Adjustment Period
by Diary
Summary: Scott and Trent try to adjust to being in one another's lives. Complete.


Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: Miami.

…

"It's just blood," Scott says, amused.

Trent scowls, fist tightening over the washcloth he's holding under the water.

Scott sighs. Trent, it turns out, doesn't have much of a sense of humour about anything. Occasionally, when Scott will start geeking out (everyone else's words; he prefers 'passionately sharing his newfound knowledge') over something, Trent will laugh and roll in his eyes, but other than that, Scott's seems to be nothing but the kid Trent feels compelled to put up with.

"You're an idiot," Trent says, kneeling down and carefully starting to pull out the pieces of gravel stuck in Scott's knee. "If you're not going to wear knee-guards, you should, at least, wear pants."

"It's over a hundred degrees outside. And this doesn't usually happen; I haven't fallen in months."

Shaking his head, Trent reaches up for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and roll of paper towels. They both wince as the paper presses against Scott's knee, the disinfectant seeping into his cuts, mixing with the blood.

After the knee's wrapped in gauze, Trent rubs his hand against his mouth before reaching down to press his against fingers it. "There," he mutters, starting to gather everything up.

"Hey," Scott says. When Trent looks up, he continues, "Thanks."

Trent doesn't respond, standing up to take the washcloth to the trash can, shaking the gravel off, into it.

"Are you staying for dinner?"

"Probably," Trent answers. "If we don't end up orphans before the table's set."

"They've gotten better," Scott says, it sounding weak to his own ears.

They haven't, not really. Their moms have been civiler to each other, but the tension's still brewing. The calm before the storm, and neither of them know when it's going to unleash.

…

Dinner is strained.

Trent wanted a coke, and of course, Mom had had something to say about that. Ms Burton had taken offence, and Trent, looking as if he might pull a Norman Bates, had asked for a glass of water and threatened to walk the twenty miles home if they didn't drop the subject.

"I was thinking Trent could stay the night, and I could take both of them to their doctor's appointment tomorrow."

Scott perks up at that, automatically passing Trent the bowl of peas.

"I can take myself," Trent says, quietly.

Without thinking, Scott kicks him underneath the table.

"Or not," Trent says, looking at his mom. "It's alright; I'll call before we leave and when we get back."

…

"I want the couch," Trent grumbles, tossing a pillow at the foot of the bed.

"So that you can fall onto the coffee table, again?" He really shouldn't be amused, he knows, but since Trent wasn't hurt aside from a small scratch on his forehead, it's really kind of funny to think about.

"The mind-altering drugs I was forced to take were responsible for that," Trent replies, lying down.

Turning out the light, his not-a-night-light on, he crawls into bed.

"Hey," he says, eventually, poking Trent's foot.

"Yeah?"

"Are you pissed about what happened in the bathroom? When I asked if you killed Donor Dad, and that guy heard you admit to spitting on him? I honestly wasn't trying to get you in trouble."

"That was over a month ago," Trent says. "But no, I'm not. I wasn't. First, I found out I had a real chance of dying, then, my mom was being accused of kidnapping, and then, I'm looking at someone with my face and body. Him hearing was just another weird way my life was falling apart."

"I think about these things," Scott says, quietly.

"Hmm," is Trent's only response.

…

After their check-up, Trent wanders off while Scott's getting some candy from the vending machine.

When he finds him, Trent is in a hospital room sitting next a heavily plump woman, talking quietly to her. Scott hesitates in the doorway, wondering if he should say something or quietly slip away, and before he can make a decision, she glances over, eyes widening briefly as she reaches over to touch Trent's hand. "I didn't know there were two of you, dear."

Trent looks over, nodding slightly at Scott. "Scott Farris," he tells her. "Separated at birth."

She shakes his hand and introduces herself as Anna Seymour.

Standing, Trent tells her goodbye and leads Scott away. "I'm interested in nutrition," he says when they find a bench to sit down at. "When the doctors were first trying to figure out what was wrong with me, I met Anna. There's a concept called 'Health At Every Size', and she let me use her as an example of why it should be implemented on a national scale for a report I did in Health."

"That's cool," Scott says, impressed. Vaguely, he makes a note of this being one of the few times Trent has ever said more than a few words at once. "Do you plan on being a nutritionist or-"

"No; it's just something I find interesting," Trent says.

…

A week later, when his teacher releases his dual-credit class early, Scott heads to the tire shop Trent works at.

"Right," Alex Tort, the owner says, blinking, when Scott approaches. "Which one are you, then?"

"I'm Scott," he says, trying not to laugh. For one thing, they have very different hairstyles, and for another, Trent wears a uniform while on duty. Despite these facts, Alex seems to have something of a sixth sense about when they're both in the building and will always ask which one they are when running into one of them.

"He's on break," Alex says, dismissing him. "And I still suspect one of you of stealing my chips."

Trent did steal a package of Alex's chips. Two years ago.

Sometimes, Scott wonders if Alex is vaguely psychic and always knew Trent had a twin. When he thinks about it, it isn't that hard to believe, really. Alex may or may not be a stoner, is addicted to Russian crossword puzzles, and sometimes blurts out random facts to whoever happens to be in the room. Trent has admitted that he only listens to Alex when something involving tires or money falls out of his boss's mouth; therefore, Alex could have been talking about Scott for the last three years, and Trent wouldn't have known it.

He's so caught up in his thoughts of Alex that it takes him a minute to realise what he's looking at.

Namely, the fact Trent is straddling a boy on the staff couch, kissing, no making out with is probably a better descriptor, him.

His first coherent thought is, Huh, didn't see that coming.

Before he can stop himself, he finds himself reaching over and knocking his hand on the open door.

The two jump apart, and when Trent's eyes take him in, several emotions flash through his brother's eyes, all gone too quickly for Scott to try to decipher them. Nodding, Trent says, "Hey."

"Boyfriend," Scott inquires, looking at the visibly uncomfortable nameless boy.

"No," Trent answers. "Let's go talk somewhere else."

As they leave, Trent reaches over, briefly putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Later, okay?"

The boy, somewhat relaxed, nods.

…

"Is this is the part where you tell me not to tell my mom?"

"This is the part where I ask you not to tell our moms."

Caught off-guard, Scott looks up. "Yours doesn't know?"

"In case you haven't noticed, she's a bit of a religious freak."

Scott knows he can't really argue with that. "You love her, and she feels the same." She'd have to, to steal a baby from his biological mother, from his three minutes older brother.

This isn't the time to bring that up, though. It may never be the right time to bring it up, and as long as their moms don't kill one another, that's fine. His mom hates Ms Burton, and he thinks she's strange and a little unsettling, but the truth is, he grew up an only child, and even after the surgery and having Trent lying down beside him at night, he doesn't exactly feel like he has a brother. A family member, yes, definitely, but not a brother.

Trent, meanwhile, loves the woman who raised him.

"It doesn't change who she is."

Wondering what that means, Scott shrugs. "I promise I won't tell them. But just so you know, I know that my mom would be okay with it."

Nodding, Trent says, "His name is Joey, and his girlfriend just broke up with him. Whenever we're both single, we-" He smirks slightly.

"No need to draw me a picture," he says, quickly, in case Trent decides that the smirk isn't an adequate enough description.

"I need to get back to work," Trent says, standing. For a second, he hesitates. "Thank you."

"No problem."

…

That night, he pokes Trent's foot.

"I've never kissed anyone."

Trent makes a small noise. "I did when I was twelve. She was eleven, and she had blue lips and a tongue from eating blue-raspberry popsicles. When I was thirteen, we started having to put on uniforms for gym class. Being in the locker room opened my eyes to certain things. I don't know for sure that I am gay; I tend to go for boys, but there have been a few times I might with girls when I might have liked them like that."

Scott stares up at the ceiling. "I think- I think I dreamed about you. Before. I had- weird dreams. I thought- I don't know, they were weird, and someone I thought was me was there."

For a long moment, there's silence, and then, he feels Trent moving. He holds his breath until he realises Trent is settling in beside him. A careful, cool hand is placed on his chest, and he can feel it through his t-shirt. "We'll figure things out," Trent says.

Nodding, Scott closes his eyes and falls asleep concentrating on the strong hand resting on his chest.


End file.
